


Across the Plains of Middle Earth

by ennyousai



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Genderswap, fem!Fili - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennyousai/pseuds/ennyousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various fills for the Hobbit kink meme, mostly focusing on the Durin family.  I don't have an issue with Durincest, so keep an eye out for that, but I'm also a fan of incredibly bromantic gen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And So We Go On

Prompt #1: Only one of the family dies at the Battle of Five Armies: Fili. Thorin then has to ascend to the throne knowing what Erebor cost him, dealing with his own grief as well as trying to deal with Kili. Go however far along you like, whether it's only right after, or keep expanding to later down the road as Thorin has to teach everything he once imparted onto Fili, as Kili is now his heir.

 

The western sky is a sickly shade of red when Thorin finds his nephews.

Kíli is not far from the gates of Erebor, kneeling on the battlefield surrounded by the bodies of friends and foes alike. There’s dried blood on his face and in his hair, and he’s somehow lost his bow. But he is alive, gloriously alive, and that is enough to make Thorin’s knees go weak with relief.

“Kíli,” he calls out, and Kíli’s eyes fix on Thorin’s face. And Thorin’s heart stutters in his chest, for his youngest nephew’s eyes are full of the same desolation that his own were after Erebor first fell to the fire-drake, a despair so great that both tears and words cannot give voice to it.

Fíli’s head is cradled in Kíli’s lap, and Kíli’s fingers are buried in blond braids streaked with dirt. Thorin does not need Kíli to tell him what he can see for himself: his sister’s eldest son is dead.

Thorin kneels next to his nephews, the living and the dead, and rests his hand on Kíli’s shoulder. He is King Under the Mountain, now, but there is no joy in it. All he can feel is grief.

* * *  
Thorin is King Under the Mountain, and Kíli is his heir.

Fíli is buried with full honors, as befits a son of Durin’s line. Dís presses her hand against the stone sarcophagus, her face lined with grief, but she does not weep. Kíli does not weep, either, but his eyes are as empty and lost as they were when Thorin found him with his brother’s body.

He takes Fíli’s place as Thorin’s heir, and fills the role well. The young dwarf who used to love jokes and laughter is gone, replaced by a serious Prince who stands erect at Thorin’s shoulder and learns how to administer justice, how to hear a lie, and how to bear himself as a future king should. The Prince of Erebor acquires a reputation for being stern but fair, and he is well-respected among the dwarves. After fifty years, he does his duty to Durin’s line and takes a wife. He is not a dwarf in love, but he knows what is expected of him, and he treats his lady honorably while his daughters and son grow healthy and strong. Thorin looks at Kíli and knows that he will lead their people well after he himself is laid to rest; and if he still mourns both Fíli and the smiling, carefree lad with tangled dark hair and a mischievous streak who set out from the Ered Luin long ago, he tells no one.

One hundred years after the Battle of Five Armies, Thorin Oakenshield lies dying. He summons his nephew to his side and presses the Arkenstone into Kíli’s hands.

“King Under the Mountain,” he says. “Lead our people well.”

Kíli inclines his head. His dark hair and moustache are braided in the fashion Fíli once used, but there are no laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His joy died long ago before the gates of Erebor.

“Be at peace, Uncle,” he says softly, and Thorin closes his eyes.

Thorin Oakenshield is laid to rest next to one of his sister-sons. The other ascends the throne.

* * *  
Thorin is dead and Kíli is King Under the Mountain. It is a role that was never meant for him, but he fills it as best he can. He wants Erebor to continue to prosper, be rich and powerful and respected, not only for the sake of his people’s future but to honor the dream his brother died for.

Not a day passes that Kíli does not think of Fíli, and his grief remains as sharp and the painful as the day Kíli lost him.

His own son carries Fíli’s name, and the boy is so like his fallen uncle that it sometimes makes Kíli’s heart ache to look upon him. His daughters were born with his own dark coloring, but Fíli inherited the fair hair and blue eyes that had graced both his grandfather and his uncle. He is also a merry child, full of light and laughter, and Kíli knows that his son will be loved as King the way his namegiver would have been, had he lived.

Kíli rules for almost a century before his strength finally starts to fail him. He feels no regrets and no fear. He simply takes to his bed and calls his son to him.

“King Under the Mountain,” he says to Fíli, as Thorin once said to him. “May Mahal guide you.”

Fíli bows his head. Kíli closes his eyes.

* * *

He is walking through the Shadowlands outside of Mahal's Great Hall. He looks down at his hands. They are no longer knobbly with age, but are as smooth and unlined as they were when he set out for the Shire so long ago. He reaches up to his cheeks, and only feels a faint dusting of stubble. He is young once more.

He looks ahead, and sees a single figure standing before the entrance to Mahal's realm.

Kíli’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, and he starts to run. He watches the figure draw nearer and nearer, until he can make out those familiar blond braids and much loved smile. When they’re finally close enough to touch, all he can do is stand still and stare greedily at his brother, hardly daring to believe he’s come home at last.

“You waited for me,” he says, his heart full.

Fíli smiles. “I would wait for you until the end of the world,” he says, and reaches for Kíli.

And Kíli holds his brother tight and smiles for the first time in two centuries, his shattered heart finally made whole again.


	2. A Child of Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on the kink meme requesting pregnant!Fíli as the center of attention.
> 
> I changed canon a bit so that Fili is from Dain's family and was betrothed to Kili at a young age for political reasons. I also borrowed the idea that a dwarf woman's name changes to match her new family's when she's engaged, which is why her and Kili's names match.

Five years after the Battle of Five Armies resulted in the death of Azog the Defiler and the Line of Durin’s restoration to the throne of Erebor, Fíli woke up in the chamber she shared with the Crown Prince and knew she was with child.

She took a moment to revel in it. She’d had her suspicions when her courses hadn’t come at the usual time, but had wanted to wait until she was sure before telling anyone. Now, with the scent of spring on the wind and the first flowers starting to bloom on the slopes surrounding the Lonely Mountain, she had no doubt that her own belly would soon swell with new life.

Fíli smiled to herself and ran her fingers gently through Kíli’s hair. Her cousin and bondmate was still sleeping, his arm thrown possessively across her waist and his face buried in the crook of her neck. Kíli had been jealous of her company ever since she arrived from the Iron Hills as the young dwarf lass who was engaged to Thorin’s heir. She’d been uncertain of herself at first, what with being in a new place and taking on a new name, but she and Kíli had taken to each other right away. The older dwarves had said it was a good omen, to see a betrothed couple get on so well as mere dwarflings, but Fíli had just been happy to have a friend. During those first years, Kíli was the one who had showed her the best places to hunt game, offered to massage her sore muscles after a day spent training with her twin swords, and braided her hair for her when it got tangled. And later, when they were dwarves newly come into their majority, Kíli was also the one who had slipped her tunic from her shoulders and set out to learn what would make her gasp and go limp with pleasure. 

Right now he was starting to twitch and mutter, and Fíli shifted so that she could kiss him into wakefulness. She ran her hands over his strong shoulders, enjoying the feeling of warm skin over hard muscle, and smiled when his arms tightened around her. 

“Good morning,” murmured Kíli, rolling them until he was on his back and holding her flush against his chest. He ran his fingers down the curve of her spine and she closed her eyes, arching a bit in pleasure. Kíli laughed and started to press kisses against her skin.

“We don’t have to be anywhere, do we?” he asked. “We can just stay here for a while?”

“We have some time.” Fíli caught Kíli’s hands in hers, stilling them for a moment. “Kíli,” she said. “Kíli, my lord and my Prince -”

Kíli raised his eyebrows. "'My _Prince_?'” he asked, and pushed himself up until they were both sitting and facing one another. “You never call me that.”

“And don’t you dare get used to it.” Fíli tugged gently at his hair and smiled. “But I have something important to tell you.”

“Oh?” Kíli's smiled. “Important indeed, if you’re going to stand on ceremony.”

Fíli smiled and pressed Kíli’s hand against her belly. There was no bump there, not yet, but there would be soon.

“I am with child,” she said. “I will be mother to the next Heir of Durin.”

She had scarcely finished speaking before Kíli was kissing her with all the fiery passion in his nature, bearing her down onto the mattress and working her over until all she could do was arch her back and cry out in bliss.

It was a good thing they weren’t needed that morning.

The weeks passed, and soon all the dwarves were aware of Fíli’s condition. It was difficult for dwarf women to conceive, and a dwarrowdam whose belly was swollen with child was seen as something marvelous, the most beautiful thing in the world. The dwarves of Erebor looked at her large belly and plump breasts with a mixture of reverence and desire, and Fíli let herself revel in it. She could feel the heat in their glances when she passed them by with her jerkin unlaced just far enough to show the gentle curve of her midsection, and it made her smile. She knew what she looked like, with her golden hair, round belly, and warrior’s bearing; and she _liked_ it.

Not that she would ever allow anyone other than Kíli to touch her, of course. Kíli was her Wild Prince and she was his Warrior Princess, and no other dwarf would ever come between them. Kíli knew that as well as she did, but it didn’t stop him from glowering at anyone foolish enough to let their eyes linger for too long, or from resting a possessive hand on the small of her back whenever they stood close to one another. It should have irritated her, perhaps - Kíli didn’t _own_ her, after all, even if they were bonded - but a jealous Kíli was a passionate Kíli, and Fíli always enjoyed their couplings when her Prince was not so in control of himself. 

“Tell me, Kíli,” she murmured one evening when she was lying sated and boneless against the sheets, her unbound hair spread around her head in a halo of gold. “Tell me what you want our child to be like.”

Kíli’s eyes were dark with love as he smiled and leaned down to kiss her. “It will be _your_ child,” he said when he pulled away, and then caressed her stomach, gentle and reverent. “And how could a child born of one such as you be anything less than extraordinary?”


End file.
